


love & communication

by mardia



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, F/M, Immortality, Relationship Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 03:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13138017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: “It’s just that we’ve got a good thing going here. I didn’t want to wreck it by getting ahead of myself.”At Christmas, Beverley and Peter have a conversation that's been a long time coming.





	love & communication

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mechanonymouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanonymouse/gifts).



> Merry Yuletide, mechanonymouse! I saw your Yuletide letter and was inspired to write something Bev-and-Peter centric for the holidays. (Title is from the Cat Power song of the same name.)

“Oh shit,” Beverley faintly hears Peter say through the door to the bathroom, late that night as they’re getting ready for bed. 

She lifts her head up off the pillow, calling out, “Everything okay, babes?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Peter calls back immediately. Beverley waits, and Peter eventually shuts off the tap after a few more seconds, but he still doesn’t come out right away. 

When he finally emerges from the bathroom, Peter’s breath smells of mint toothpaste, and he has a faintly alarmed look on his face. Beverley looks him over and asks, “What is it?” as he slides in beneath the sheets. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Peter starts, but she doesn’t need to hear the faint jump in his heartbeat to know he’s lying. Beverley raises an eyebrow at him, and Peter wrinkles his nose. “It’s nothing, I just...I found a gray hair on my head today.”

“The one by your temple?” Beverley asks, and Peter stares at her. 

“What, you noticed and you didn’t tell me?” he asks, indignant, and then another thought occurs to him. “Wait--have I got _more_ gray hairs on my head?”

“Only a couple,” Beverley reassures him as Peter anxiously runs a hand over his hair. “I noticed just a month ago, it’s not a big deal.”

“No, I suppose not,” Peter agrees, but the expression on his face betrays his unease. 

Beverley sets herself to teasing him out of it. “You feeling old?” she asks, with a mock-serious tone. “Worried about arthritis, love? Should we go shopping for a cane and dentures in the morning?”

“All right, all right, leave off,” Peter grumbles, but he wraps an arm around her waist as he settles into the bed. “I’m not even thirty yet, I’m not supposed to have gray hairs.”

“A few gray hairs are nothing,” Beverley says. “Ty got her first one when she was seventeen, threw a massive fit according to Fleet.” She only realizes what she’s said and how little it applies here when Peter hums, but he doesn’t call her out on it, just saying easily, “I won’t lie, I’m glad I’ll never have to deal with a teenaged Tyburn having a tantrum.”

“You think you’ve escaped it, but just wait until Nicky gets older,” Beverley says darkly, and Peter laughs. 

Later that night, once Peter’s asleep and the lights are off, Beverley lets her fingers rest on his temple, right where she knows that gray hair is. 

*

This year, Beverley’s going to celebrate Christmas dinner with Peter’s family for the first time. 

Of course, all of her sisters have opinions on this. 

The twins, for example, let out long, low whistles in perfect unison, before Chelsea asks, “And Mum gave the okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Beverley says, sipping at her latte--they’ve come into the cafe for a break in between all the Christmas shopping--with a family as big as theirs is, Christmas shopping is a multi-day operation. “She likes Peter, she’s fine with it.”

“And what did Ty say?” Olympia asks. 

“I don’t know and haven’t asked,” Beverley says. 

Chelsea and Olympia share a look, before Olympia smirks and says, “You know that’s your problem, Bev--half the time you could just get Ty off your case if you even pretended to consider her advice. That’s what Chels and I do all the time--we listen, we tell her we’ll think about it, and then we go ahead and do as we please.”

“That won’t work here,” Beverley says, and the twins share another look, but they leave it alone after that. 

Tyburn, of course, has her own opinions, which she makes a point of sharing at great length to Beverley and to anyone else in their family that will listen. Beverley makes just as strong a point of not listening, and when Peter comes round on Christmas Day in the latest Asbo the Folly’s picked up to take her to his aunty Jo’s house, she meets him at the door with a bag full of presents and a new dress underneath her favorite wool coat. 

*

The dinner at Peter’s aunt’s is lovely--the house is warm and inviting, crammed full of people, and Beverley enjoys every minute of it, from the aunts exclaiming that she’s every bit as pretty as Peter’s mother said she was, the cousins who drag Peter and her off for a round of video games, to Peter’s father tucked away in a quiet corner, where he’s in charge of playing jazz records all night. 

The only hiccup occurs right after dinner, when one of Peter’s cousins has to go off to the bathroom and sets Peter up with baby-minding duty, handing Peter her six-month old daughter Sasha. It’s not even the baby that’s the problem--it’s how easily Peter takes her, balancing her on his hip like he’s done this a million times before, the baby looking content and safe in his arms. 

Beverley doesn’t know what her face is doing, but Peter’s mother leans in and gives one of those helpful hints that mothers love to give, saying, “He’s good with children, you know. Spend ages minding the little ones when he was younger.”

“Yeah, he’s told me,” Beverley says, putting a quick smile on her face. As if he realizes that he’s being talked about, Peter glances over and sees them both watching from across the kitchen, and gets a mildly panicked look on his face before he says to the nearest person to him, “Oh, I think Sasha’s nappy needs changing, I’ll be back in a minute.”

As Peter disappears up the stairs, Beverley looks down at her half-full wine glass, downs it in one go, and goes off after her boyfriend.

It’s the work of a minute to find which bedroom they’re in--she just listens, and hears the baby chortling happily while Peter says nonsense words in a soothing voice. 

She gently pushes the door open, and sees Peter perching on the edge of the bed, bouncing the baby on his lap, a pile of coats on the bed behind them. He looks up, startled, and Beverley gives him a smile. “Don’t mind me.”

Sasha gurgles and reaches out for Peter’s nose, and Peter laughs as he ducks his face out of the way, pretending to eat at her chubby little fingers. 

“She’s cute,” Beverley says, leaning back against the closed door, relieved they don’t have an audience for this. 

“All babies are cute,” Peter says absently, settling Sasha down in his lap, his hand curving protectively around her little tummy to help her keep her balance. “They’re also little terrors--the cuteness is mostly there to fool you.”

“True,” Beverley says. “You’re still good with her, though.”

Peter glances up at that, and then looks quickly back down at Sasha’s dark curls. “Had plenty of practice growing up. Mum was always quick to offer me up when someone needed a spot of free babysitting.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and for a minute Beverley thinks of letting it go, of continuing to put this conversation off until later. Or until Peter finally decides to bring it up on his own--although who knows how long that will take. 

“You know,” Beverley says in a deliberately light tone, “you could just ask me what my feelings are when it comes to having kids. Instead of just assuming you already know.”

Peter swallows and looks up at her. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, isn’t it?” He looks down at Sasha and says, in a tone striving to be as light as Beverley’s was just now, “At least that’s what your sister is always telling me.”

Goddamn it, Tyburn. 

Beverley makes herself breathe out, and walks over to sit next to Peter on the bed. “It’s not as simple as it could be,” she allows. “But it doesn’t mean that Tyburn speaks for me about it. Or about anything, for that matter.”

“I didn’t think she did,” Peter admits, giving her an apologetic look. “Just, well--” he pauses as Sasha squirms in his arms, and readjusts her before admitting, “It’s just that we’ve got a good thing going here. I didn’t want to wreck it by getting ahead of myself.”

Beverley gently knocks her knee against his. “You’re not going to wreck anything by asking me a question, Peter.” She holds her tongue and doesn’t add, _it’s okay to tell people when you want things_ , because that’s a conversation Peter’s not ready to have yet. “Especially when it’s a question I already know you want to ask.”

Peter looks sheepish. “Mum wasn’t very subtle down there, was she.”

“Your mother doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Beverley says. “Although the real giveaway was how your face is always lighting up whenever there’s a small child around.” Peter groans, dropping his head, and Sasha peers curiously at Beverley, dark eyes huge in her small face. 

She looks like the pictures Beverley has seen of Peter when he was small, and Beverley looks at where Peter’s holding her, at how huge his hands seem in comparison to Sasha’s tiny body. 

He’s holding her so carefully, and Beverley can admit, in the space of this quiet room, that the sight of Peter cradling a baby does do something to her. 

“So,” Peter says, and she can hear the nerves in his voice. “What, uh, what are your feelings on kids and marriage?”

“I’m not opposed,” Beverley says carefully. “I like the idea of it in theory, you know? A couple of kids, a nice house, a partner to raise them with. Not for years, mind, but in theory it would be nice.”

“In theory?” Peter presses. 

“Yes,” Beverley says, and reaches out to adjust his collar--an excuse, really, to touch him, to stroke at his shoulder, let her fingers trail along his jaw until the worried crease starts to disappear between his eyebrows. “In theory it’d be all right, but...but with the right guy, it’s something I absolutely would want to do.”

The dawning light in Peter’s eyes is great to see, and Beverley seals it by leaning in and dropping a light kiss on his mouth, saying as she pulls back, “And that’s all you’re getting out of me until I finish up my degree, Peter, I don’t want us getting ahead of ourselves.”

“Fair enough,” Peter says, but the way he’s grinning now--nothing cheeky or cocky in it at all, just genuine delight--says everything for him. 

A part of Beverley thinks she should just leave it here. A part of Beverley _wants_ to leave it here, with her and Peter on the right page, sitting together while Peter holds an adorable baby, faint strains of Ella Fitzgerald’s smooth voice floating up from downstairs. 

But that’s the thing...Beverley can’t go and tell Peter how important it is to be honest and upfront about the things you want, and then not go ahead and follow her own advice. 

“And if we were to do it all, the kids and the marriage and the mortgage, the whole bit,” Beverley says, her voice going higher from nerves, dammit, “--then would you be open to…” Beverley trails off for a moment, looking into Peter’s face, and then she squares her shoulders and goes for it. “Could you see yourself ever walking into my river with me one day?”

Peter’s eyes grow huge in his face, surprise written as clear as anything. “Oh,” he breathes out, and Beverley exhales, trying not to feel disappointment. 

“So you haven’t thought about it, then,” she says. 

“Of course I’ve thought about it,” Peter says immediately. “It’s me, I think about the possibility of everything. I just wasn’t sure if it was a thing for you, for your sisters.”

“It is,” Beverley says. “Or at least it _could_ be--from how Isis explained it, it doesn’t always take, but it could, with you, if we tried. And I...and I really want to try, Peter.”

It’s not that she’s afraid of losing Peter, not yet anyway. Peter’s still young, still healthy and strong, still so capable of taking care of himself--never mind the Nightingale’s protection, or the walls of the Folly. It’s not any immediate sort of fear she has of losing him, the few odd gray hairs aside.

It’s just that she dreams of it sometimes. Of walking down with him to her river on some sunny afternoon, of taking him by the hand and drawing him into the cool water, and when he emerged he’d...he’d be hers, entirely, and together they’d both be something new. 

Peter’s quiet now, considering it. “It’s...I’m not saying no,” he says. “But if I did go down into the river with you, could I still do magic? Could I still be part of the Folly?”

And this is why Beverley hasn’t asked him before now. “I don’t know,” Beverley admits with a sigh. “For the magic, I think you could. But the Folly, with the way those wards are set up...I don’t know.”

Peter nods thoughtfully, still thinking. Beverley holds her breath, preparing herself for the next thing he says to be about his oaths to the Folly, or his duties to Nightingale, but instead Peter looks at her and says, carefully, “For the river...you’re not talking about doing this in a year or two, right? You just want it to be on the table, something we’re both thinking about.”

“Yeah,” Beverley agrees. “In the same way we’re thinking about kids, or marriage, or even just moving in together.”

Peter nods, and says, “I can work with that.” He kisses her very softly, as if to settle his point, and Beverley breathes out, in mingled relief and hope, and she kisses him back.

*

They don’t immediately jump into planning their future that night. Instead they take Sasha back downstairs to reunite her with her mum, and they open presents with Peter’s family, and drive back to Beverley’s house late that evening, Beverley’s hand resting on Peter’s knee as they listen to Christmas carols in the car. 

Instead, Peter starts talking about making plans with her to drive upstream to visit Oxley and Isis one of these days. It’s good to get back in touch, Peter says. Oxley’s always a good person to bounce ideas off of. “Besides,” he adds, “It’ll be nice to have backup again if I’m dealing with Ty.”

Beverley just rolls her eyes and points out that the person best equipped to deal with her sister is, in fact, her. 

And if Beverley still dreams sometimes about holding a small baby with Peter’s thick curls and her dark eyes, or if she dreams of a sunlit summer afternoon where she pulls Peter down beneath the surface of her river and never lets him go, then that’s all right. They’ve still got time to work it all out.


End file.
